


a broken record (my heart skips too)

by twinSky



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: And how, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, Emetophobia, Gen, Time Loop, and thus all warnings that entails, kagerou daze inspired, please heed warnings if you are sensitive to these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinSky/pseuds/twinSky
Summary: They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.-Like a record skipping over, Yuya relives the same moments again and again, a continuous refrain of misery to the sound of his despair.Yuya forgets, and Yuya remembers, but if he knows just one thing it is this: he’s going to save Sora from this cycle.No matter what.
Relationships: Sakaki Yuya & Shiunin Sora
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	a broken record (my heart skips too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonbounded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbounded/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIN!!!!!
> 
> to everyone else. sorry.
> 
> If you've opened this and have somehow never heard of kagepro: here is the song this is based off of. Watch it before, after, never, during, it is all the same but [here it is!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7KNYk4f3XQ)

Yuya looks up at the sky, repressing a sigh. 

Today is the kind of day where the air hangs stagnant, making the day feel warmer than it actually is. Heat presses uncomfortably against him as they sit side by side at the park, Sora idly licking at his slowly melting ice cream cone. Maiami City has always been prone to unbearably warm days but something about today has Yuya feeling almost ill underneath the summer heat.

Despite this, it’s a nice day, there is laughter in the air and a musician down the ways is performing an upbeat tune that Yuya is lazily tapping his foot to. All of them had meant to go out together to try out a new dessert place that had opened up, but then things had come up one by one until it was just the two of them left.

Yuya didn’t particularly mind it, there would be other days, and sometimes it was nice to just do nothing but sit at the park and do nothing. Yuya enjoys the summer, the buzz of cicadas and the life in the trees. He’s always been fond of this season the most; loves to be outside and enjoying the world rather than stuck inside his home. And the height of August, as the days begin to grow shorter but the heat all the stronger, is nice. Yuya knows most people wouldn’t agree but… he likes it.

At least, he usually does.

Something about today has him unsettled even as Sora tells a joke and he laughs. He grins as Sora kicks his legs out, reclining back into the bench they are sitting on. Sora’s arm lifts as he continues on with his story and Yuya is listening, he is! But the words feel muted against the mounting dread building in him. Persistent and wanting even as he tries to ignore it. Tries to tell himself that nothing is wrong.

Because nothing is wrong.

It’s a nice day, he repeats, the sun is shining, and the clouds drifting past provide the occasional much welcomed shade from the sun's unrelenting light. Today is a fine, perfectly mundane day, he knows this.

But none of that…

His stomach churns and Sora blinks, tilting his head to face him, and there is a moment as he does that his head angles just so, where his eyes close and he looks –

–  _ he looks _ –

– _He falls behind as they run up the steps, and Yuya lunges, desperate and oh so wanting, but his feet don’t carry him forward fast enough, always, always too slow to change anything. Useless limbs attached to a useless person and his hands close around nothing, empty air accompanied by an empty heart, as Sora slips through his grasp. Falling and falling like an arc in slow motion; the sound as he lands, the crunch of bone and skin against concrete, replays over and over in his head like a broken record as a scream rips through his lungs._

 _Blood pools at the base of the steps, and at its core like a doll angled all wrong is… He gasps, unable to tear his gaze away, eye finding purchase once again on Sora’s face, lips pulled impossibly into_ –

– a smile, Sora offers as he leans over, ice cream cone extended. “Do you want a bite?”

“No,” he says slowly, wincing as his head twinges, thoughts popping like bubbles and leaving him empty and bereft. The heat of the day has melted the treat enough that it drips onto Sora’s hand and when Yuya watches it for a second, a quick ephemeral moment, it’s soft cream colour is something darker, harsher, vibrant and – “I’m fine.” He says with a shake of his head.

Sora’s brows crease as concern floods his features, wiping the cheeky smile he had been wearing moments before. Yuya’s stomach turns, guilt rising up like tidal wave, choking  _ his throat and clogging his lungs and – _

_ — and — _

_ — (It’s just not that simple. Did you think it could be that easy?) — _

“You don’t look it.” Sora says, voice a tiny whisper against the ringing echoing in his mind but nevertheless Yuya hears it clear as day. His stomach turns, and turns and turns, words he can’t place on the tip of his tongue. Pleas he can’t name, desires he can’t bring to light.

The ice cream drips and drips and drips, down his hand, to his wrist, and finally down to the ground. A steady rhythm, a steady flow, consistent and unending, just like – 

–  _ Yuya has often been told that the red of his hair, of his eyes is pretty, that it is vibrant and beautiful. Yuya has never given it much thought, not to his appearance or his colours, not until now. But, but now, now he thinks that red is possibly a terrible colour, a horrible ugly shade in misery and grief. The way it shines bright in the sun like a river of fire, the way it reflects off unseeing eyes and unmoving – _

– “I think we should leave.” Sora speaks, suddenly in front of him, hands tugging at his wrists and Yuya follows, limp and compliant. For some reason captivated in all the little ways Sora is alive, the spark in his eyes, the bounce in his hair, the worried furrow of his brow as he leads, the rise and fall of his chest. Yuya catalogues every little feature like it is moments away from disappearing. Like a still moment in a moving picture, the second he looks away it will be gone.

Yuya doesn’t want it to end, but the beat of his chest resounds as the steady tick of a timer at its end. Each thump one step closer.

One step closer.

One step…

Shouts from above.

Glinting metal.

A shove.

Red in the air, on his cheek, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

His eyes close.

A brief moment of uncomprehending denial.

And he forgets.

_ (The thing about pain, about loss, is that the body can only take so much. Can only withstand so much before it shatters, before it tries to shy away from it all. The mind is a fragile thing, and life is above all else about self-preservation. About doing what you can. _

_ Ignorance is bliss. Forgetting is a mercy. Denial a sweet embrace. _

_ However, reality, once faced, cannot so easily be turned against. _

__

__

_ … And sometimes, your care for others, far outweighs that which you have for yourself. And Yuya’s care for his friends, for Sora, will always be more than anything he feels towards himself. _

_ That’s never been the question. _

_ But sometimes…) _

Yuya awakes to heat stuck to his skin like a second layer, the sun blaring through his windows as his alarm rings loud throughout the space. Each ring shakes him, runs through him like a gong demanding for attention, sharp and loud. He winces as he sits up, sticky and heavy, and with the motion comes an unfamiliar reluctance, a distant part of him wanting nothing more than to curl up under the covers and stay there until the sun has risen and fallen. To ignore the hours of the day in favour of the security of his home. To stay here, for a while.

Until the clock turns the day over.

~~ (Until it is safe again.) ~~

It’s an odd feeling, one that dogs him as he gets up out of bed and readies himself to go out. Persistent and unyielding to the point of annoyance and he’s not sure where it comes from, he felt fine last night.

He shrugs it off as he heads out the door; he and Sora have plans today, it’s probably nothing. Yuya isn’t going to let a little bad feeling hold him back.

-

The feeling rings heavy, mocking like laughter, as screaming fills his ears. A rhythm of misery set to a march of his own making.

His own, the passersby’s, he’s not sure –he can’t tell. Doesn’t want to –  _ can’t _ care to – there’s buzzing in Yuya’s head and his sight is just the –  _ the _ – what’s right in front of him. There is sound all around him; lights and voices but all Yuya can see is the red on his hands and painting the streets. Red seeping through his shoes as he takes a step back, then forward, legs shaking as he grasps his head in his hands, tugging and tugging but he can’t make the pain compare to the fire burning in his lungs and choking him dry like ashes.

He falls to his knees, a wet splat of a sound that makes his stomach turn as he scrambles towards  _ – towards _ – as he moves forward, ignoring the hands on his shoulder trying to pull him back.

“Hey –hey, Sora.” He rambles, voice high enough that it hurts his own ears, tears splashing down onto his cheeks and turning shades of red, pink and faded. “Sora, open your eyes this joke isn’t funny.” He continues, wanting to shake the other but terrified that it might hurt him somehow. “ _ Sora please _ .” He begs, but Sora  the body does not reply, stubbornly silent like he always is when he thinks Yuya is being frustrating.

Sora does not reply, like he hasn’t answered any of Yuya’s pleas since he stepped onto the street, walking backwards hands behind his head as he smiled wide, as he titled his head just so right before –

_ – Before _ –

“Don’t leave me.” he begs, burying his head in sticky blue hair, matted with blood, a suffocating feeling in the numbing heat of the summer. Hands slick with blood scramble for purchase in the folds of Sora’s clothes, holding him closer, trying to bury him in all the safety he can provide between the space of his arms. Yuya can’t breathe between the fire in his lungs and weight in his stomach. The heavy  dead weight in his arms. “ _ You can’t keep doing this! _ ” He shouts, a prayer and a condemnation all in one and –

_ – Keep doing this? _

When had this…

Like a dam broken memories rush through him, leaving him somehow more shaken and breathless than before. Every second. Every death. Every breath. Every end. They run through in a sharp stream, leaving him breathless and gasping.

Yuya shrieks, pain and loss folded over itself again and again, until it is an all-consuming black hole at his core.

Yuya remembers and –

_ – Yuya wakes up – _

– he won’t let this happen again.

_ (The cycle begins anew.) _

Yuya awakes and nearly throws himself out of bed in his rush to get out and to the bathroom, bile clawing up his throat and choking his tongue on acid. His legs nearly give out beneath him as he arrives, scrambling to the toilet before he can spill his guts right here on the floor. His stomach churns even with its contents empty, and he presses his hand against it in an empty gesture of comfort. He pants, knuckles turning white against the rim of the seat as he attempts to steady himself.

He breathes, a slow prolonged inhale followed by a steady exhale. Rinsed and repeated until the whirring in his mind and the churning in his stomach settle in equal measures.

He blinks, the gentle fuzz of morning blurriness overcoming him as he tries to remember what he could have possibly dreamt to have woken him with such a start. He stands in an almost daze, hands still shaking as he wobbles over to the sink. There’s a memory just in reach, close enough to grab yet slipping through like smoke every time.

–  _ red seeping through his shoes – _

He lifts a shaky hand to run down a pale face. What was he…

_ — remember _ —

“Remember what?” He asks aloud before frowning, “Why did I…”

_ — the crunch of bone and skin against concrete — _

He gasps, pulling his hands away and then up again, staring at them in horror.

—  _ don’t let this happen again — _

There is bile crawling up his throat again, but he swallows it back down, coughing through the burning the action provides. He…

_ — hands slick with blood scramble for purchase — _

He shoves his hands beneath the faucet, scrubbing at blood that is not there and despite the terror clinging to that memory because he’s–

—  _ going to save him — _

Again, like a flower blooming the memories uncurl, a clear terrible picture that leaves Yuya cold and gasping for breath as they always do. He clings onto them tighter all the same.

He doesn’t, he doesn’t know what’s happening –  _ how long this has been happening for _ – but he knows he has a chance now. If he can remember then he can change it, he can stop it. He must, it has to be possible.

For once, for once Yuya can save Sora before, before… he swallows, hands curling and uncurling, no he can’t deny this. Yuya isn’t going to let Sora get hurt anymore.

Isn’t going to let him  _ die _ anymore.

Yuya’s hands shake, fingers numb, as he messages the other, unable to trust his own voice to call. He doesn’t want Sora to hear the weakness and tremble in his voice. This is Yuya’s burden to bear, this knowledge and this pain, and he’s going to find a way to end it before it can repeat again.

His duel disk buzzes with the alert of a new message and he opens it with restless anticipation. Relief unfurling as he reads the message.

_ [Received 10:13: yeah np] _

He is still staring when it buzzes again, another message scrolling across the screen.

_ [Received 10:14: do you want me to come over??? i can help] _

_ [Sent 10:14: no!!] _

_ [Sent 10:14: it’s fine dw it’s not a lot] _

The time passes impossibly slow as he awaits a reply, minutes dragging into hours as his heart races in his chest, running a mile while staying completely still. If Sora just stays home, then it will be fine. The danger is outside, the people, the streets, everything.

If he just doesn’t leave, then everything will be okay.

Right?

_ [Received 10:16: alright weirdo] _

The reply finally comes, and Yuya laughs a bit helplessly, perfectly picturing the confused raised eyebrow Sora must be giving right now. He falls back into his bed, energy leaving him in a rush as his nerves finally settle if even just the smallest bit.

He sighs, pressing the palms of his hand against his eyes. It’ll be fine, it has to be.

__

__

__

__

_ (There are those that believe that every event in life is predetermined. Every action, every choice, long since decided by fate. _

_ As such, that which is meant to happen, will always happen. _

_ No matter what. _

_ He didn’t use to believe in that but. He’s seen it. _

_ What is meant to be. It will always be. _

_ No matter what.) _

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

Yuya doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he awakes to buzzing on his chest, the gentle alarm of a message received. He reaches out blindly for it, patting uselessly at his chest before his hands finally wrap around the device. He blinks bleary eyes up at it as the screen lights up, two messages shining down at him.

_ [Received 12:09: hey i’m gonna head out anyways] _

_ [Received 12:09: if you finish early enough i’ll be at the park] _

Yuya sits up with a start, barely thinking as he jumps off the bed and down the steps, grabbing his skates as he heads out the door. Unsteady hands barely finding the strength to open it.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

_ He wasn’t supposed to leave _ .

Yuya had this hope, small and flimsy as it was, that if they just stayed away. If they just ignored the day, then perhaps everything could be okay. That maybe, just maybe, fate would be so kind to grant them this one small mercy.

But life is not kind, nor does it forgive, and Yuya should have known better than to rely on something as thin as luck to hold them through. Yuya knew better than to not put his own best effort forward, and he doesn’t know why he thought this would be any different.

Yuya’s regrets chase him down as he bolts down the steps, and were it not for the fact it doesn’t make any sense, he’d swear he could hear laughter following him all the way. Harsh and mocking, judging him for every step, every breath. Every moment that he dared to think that things would be okay.

Maybe it isn’t real, perhaps it is all in his head, but Yuya feels the shame of it all the same.

And the feeling digs into him as he rounds the corner, the glare of sirens momentarily blinding him, a crowd of people huddled around the street. Yuya doesn’t need to see to know what has happened, but his feet march forward, nevertheless.

Yuya owes Sora at least that much.

_ (He hates this time the most. Because he let him go alone. Because he wasn’t there. _

_ Because if this will keep happening. Again and again and again. Without fail, with the same surety as the sun rises. Then all Yuya has is the ability to stay near. To make sure at the very least, in those final moments, he is not alone. _

_ But he was that time. _

_ Because Yuya was a coward. Because he thought saving someone was as simple as doing nothing. _

_ And he’ll never forgive himself for that.) _

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

Yuya wakes up with fire in his chest, for once not choking and all-consuming, but spurring him forward, and the dying but present embers of his grief, determination and longing in equal measures pushing him off his bed and towards the day. If Yuya will keep repeating this day, over and over without pause or reprieve, then he simply has to keep trying.

Until he gets it right.

Until he breaks the cycle.

_ Until Sora doesn’t have to die anymore. _

At the end of it all, it really is as simple as that.

-

In one attempt, he manages to safely get Sora to his house despite Sora’s annoyance at the sudden and unbidden change of plans.

It doesn’t change a thing.

When Yuya awakes next it with shaking breaths and trembling hands as he wanders into his kitchen, digging out their old pair of scissors and throwing them in the garbage. The image of blood stained upon its blades even in a time where it has yet to happen.

It won’t happen.

-

He tries the mall next. Because it’s just them, right? Just the two of them trapped in this loop. And surrounded by all these people in an enclosed space he can almost hope that nothing here will harm them. His worries make him anxious and he knows it shows on his face because Sora is doing that thing where he’s trying to not make it obvious that he’s worried about him.

He tries for a smile; put on a happy face, tell yourself it’ll be okay. Because then it will be, then it doesn’t have to hurt.  _ Can’t hurt _ , because a smile means you aren’t sad.

Yuya might sometimes feel like he can’t breathe, can’t  _ be, _ from the pain in his chest and the grief filling him whole every second, every moment that passes in this place, his own personal hell, makes him feel more and more like he’s sinking into the ground. Like every step he takes drags him deeper and deeper.

He feels like a weight being dropped into the ocean, and he smiles as he gasps for breath, pulls his grin open and wide as water fills his lungs until the concern in Sora’s features fades into something miniscule. Because that’s what truly matters here.

It’s good. Good. Sora shouldn’t worry about him, the person worst off here isn’t Yuya, there’s no need for concern to be given to him.

Yuya will smile and he will laugh because it is all the comfort he has to offer. Even as worthless as that gesture is.

The pain he feels is nothing compared to the pain of death, so he will bury it deep inside where it cannot be seen. Where he can pretend it doesn’t exist, and then maybe it doesn’t.

-

It feels like ice slowly wrapping around his chest as he watches Sora gasp for breath, unable to help, just barely out of reach like a mockery of his efforts. There is screaming, and a hand on his arm pulling him back and Yuya follows, body tumbling back and down with the motion when his legs, weak and unresistant, collapse beneath him.

His fault.

This one was his fault.

Sora wasn’t paying attention to where he was going because Yuya was acting weird. Yuya wasn’t paying attention because he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts.

Yuya failed because for the briefest moment he let himself get distracted by his own concerns. His own problems.

The feeling hardens, as tough as stone and sharp like ice.

He can’t do this if he’s not going to focus.

Nothing else matters.

Especially not him.

_ (The thing is, even with all the focus and care in the world, it won’t end. _

_ This doesn’t end. _

_ He’s lost count of the attempts, of the days, of the years. _

_ It is just the same day. _

_ Again, and again, and again. _

_ Failure upon failure, death upon death. _

_ But even so…) _

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

Despite it all, Yuya refuses to forget a single death, a single attempt. He can catalogue every single way that he has seen Sora die.

(He has seen death that would be considered comical were it in a cartoon where the character stands up afterwards, dazed and with stars in their eyes. Death that would be too gruesome even for the worst of horror movies. Yuya has held him, cradled him in his arms as he breathed his last, and he’s watched him fade just beyond reach.)

He can take a walk around the town and pinpoint every single location he has seen his last moments. The memories hang over him like a fog, tinting his vision with a map of death, every spot bright like a pinned point in a video game.

(Yuya can hear his choked and pained screams and his sputtering dying gasps ingrained in his mind like a picture perfect image. Can see the poles through his chest, the blood in his hair, the twisted angles of his limbs.

Sometimes Yuya will look at Sora – still living, still breathing – and for a moment it is not him, it is a different version, eyes faded, hair dull. Or with blood in his mouth and too-pale skin. Sometimes Yuya looks at Sora and sees a dead man yet to be and it makes his stomach twist and twist until he feels sick but even then –)

Yuya walks through all of it with a smile on his face and laughter in his voice held together by the simple belief that  _ maybe this time it will be alright. _

(It’s not alright.)

__

_ (There’s a certain resignation after a point that he hates, he hates so much. Because it is not that he wants to stop trying — he can’t. _

_ He  _ **_won’t_ ** _. _

_ But trial after trial there is a pitiful, restless, worthlessness inside him that mocks ‘what can you do?’ and the answer is always overwhelmingly nothing. _

_ He can’t do a thing. Can’t change a thing. _

_ At some point, there’s nothing left to do but accept it. And then keep trying anyways and believe that perhaps this time will be different. That maybe, just maybe, this time things will change. _

_ And then they never do.) _

__

__

__

__

“Hey,” Yuya says, and his voice sounds foreign in his ears, calm and steady and not loud and desperate, “do you like summer?”

Sora blinks, looking up from his ice cream with a raised brow. Yuya sees a hundred deaths flit by in that brief moment, the same expression twisted too many ways to count. Yuya sees this and smiles as he pretends it doesn’t hurt because he’s already learned the consequences of showing his frustration, his concern.

(Letting Sora see him distressed is one of the quickest ways to a painful death.

Yuya has learned that it is easier to simply pretend nothing is wrong. Because Yuya will endure any suffering to ensure those he cares about are safe.)

“It’s nice I guess, a bit too hot for me.” Sora replies, with a shrug, then looks at his ice cream cone in consideration. “It  _ does _ make this taste better though.” He continues, taking a chillingly big bite of it. “Why?”

Yuya shivers, a chill running through him at the action.

“I hate it.” He replies simply, and pulls his smile a bit wider when he feels it falter.

His tone must have come out sharper than he intended, because Sora’s eyes go from amused confusion to narrow and sharp in one instant. Yuya tilts his head, crinkles his eyes, and pretends he didn’t just slip up. “It’s just too much, it’s hot and humid and feels like it never ends.”

The line of tension growing in Sora’s shoulders releases and he lets out an inward sigh of relief at the action.

“I thought you’d like it.” Sora offers, looking up at the sky. “Better weather to do all our entertainment stuff outside.”

He nods, conceding the point, because it’s true, and Yuya remembers a time far off ago when he would have probably agreed. “I guess, but everything starts dying right after.”

Sora raises a brow. “It’s not summer’s fault that winter and autumn come next.”

Again, Sora is correct, but Yuya has seen enough death to last tens of seasons, enough to have made it round and back more than ten times over.

He doesn’t really see a reason to like the summer anymore.

Yuya shrugs and offers Sora his brightest, most genuine smile. “Anyways, I think we should head out soon.”

“Hungry already?” Sora teases and his grin dims, just the slightest bit.

“Yeah.”

Sure, something like that.

.

If fate is unavoidable, if a life must be lost today.

Well then, Yuya will just change which life it is.

Perhaps, it really is that simple.

.

Yuya has seen this scene the most. To the point that sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. A scene replayed over and over again to the point of parody, except it’s never funny. Yuya never sees it without feeling like he’s been punched in the gut, like everything inside him has been scooped out until he is hollow and empty. The feeling never fades, even when he can close his eyes and repeat it in his head just perfectly.

A speeding truck moving too fast to notice. Sora, always, always turned to face him, laughing or smiling. His pace just a smidge faster every time, no matter how much Yuya asks him to slow down. Yuya, always a second too slow to do anything but watch and scream.

Yuya has never been able to avoid this.

(Has always instead had to clutch a limp and bleeding body close.)

But Yuya has never tried this before either.

.

Like time moving in slow motion Yuya sees it approach, sees Sora take that first step and for once when he reaches out his hand connects. Grasps around Sora’s firmly enough to hold, to tug him back into safety and himself forward in the same motion.

Yuya does all this in what feels like one eternal second, and then there is an impact, pain so sharp and sudden it doesn’t even register for a moment. And time reconnects, marching forward once again.

He breathes, but no air comes, body a hazy hum even as he smiles. Everything hurts, but in a muted delay, pain comes in waves as red tints his vision. Yuya feels blood in his mouth and spilling down his chest but even so he cannot help the smile growing on his face as his fading gaze lands on Sora, hale and whole and  _ alive _ .

This is nothing compared to what Sora has lived through again and again, every repeated day without fail. Yuya would do this again, would have done it before if he thought it would work. Because Yuya will take on any suffering if it means it would end this all.

His vision fades further, but even so his eyes lock onto Sora, crying and… and —

—  _ angry? _

Why is he —

His heart stutters in his chest, and his mind suddenly whirring cannot discern whether it is the impact or the sight but –

_ — but — _

His eyes close.

~~_ (The memories fade away.) _ ~~

He sits in bed, head buried in his knees as his hands, clenched into fists, lay uselessly beside him. Anger and frustration rolling through him as his nails dig into his palm to the point of pain.

He ignores it, the physical pain nothing to the throbbing of his chest, the pounding in his head.

_ Again. Again I failed again. _ His mind repeats, a mocking mantra just to remind him of his failures, of his uselessness.

Why is he never,  _ never, _ good enough to save him?

How many times must he fail before it’s enough, how many times must he be just a moment too slow, a second away from victory.

How many times is this wretched loop going to make him watch Yuya die?

Sora wakes up every morning with anger and desperation as the backbeat of his heart. A distant but ever-present tune that follows him every step of the day. A marching band towards impending doom. He holds it in because it’s all he has keeping him together at this point.

Why, just  _ why _ , is it always him that survives?

In what sensible world does Sora’s life have even a smidge more value than Yuya’s? Yuya who is kind, Yuya who cares about others, Yuya who will always be better than Sora can ever dream of being.

Because Yuya hasn’t hurt others, because Yuya has always offered a smile when all Sora could do was bring cruelty.

Sora would do anything to give Yuya another year, another day, another second of life because Sora’s life was only worth living if Yuya was there. Because he and Yuzu had given him a reason to be, to exist as something more, and Sora would do anything to repay that favour.

Even sacrificing his own life—because at the end of it all saving Yuya mattered more to him than anything else.

So, so what he failed again.

Maybe he wouldn’t today.

Maybe today will finally be the day he can save Yuya from another gruesome death.

Maybe today Sora could believe in that easy-as-breathing way Yuya always did that things would turn out okay if they just put their best step forward.

Sora unclenches, relaxing his pose in an extended breath and stretching out.

No use moping around.

He had all of eternity to figure this out, he wasn’t going to give up now.

Yuya deserved better than that, better than Sora sulking around in despair and hopelessness, and so Sora was going to do that for him.

No matter what.

~~_ (The cycle begins anew.) _ ~~

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to have proper notes but brain no worky so here it is copy pasted straight from my files:  
> Post canon? Au? Idc. I don’t care. Please leave me alone.  
> Both: never remember the times they succeed.  
> Sora: remembers every failure. Every Single Time.  
> Yuya: every time he ‘succeeds’ his memories reset and he forgets they are in a loop. Until he reaches a new ‘breaking’ point and remembers. However italicized bracketed text is. If you’ve watched the amv I guess represents the red/blue versions in it. It is a version of yuya that remembers every failure and is jaded for it. 
> 
> Italicized bracketed strikedout text is just. The loop. The loop is stronger than us all.  
> I’m sorry I wanted to give this a happy ending but I literally didn’t know how they’re still trapped in there I couldn’t even free them. I started thinking how canonically only one could leave and couldn’t fucking take it. I think Yuya would be the one to stay and it would haunt Sora for the rest of his life.
> 
> \- 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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